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  Now we had a standing Friday lunch date, and today, it was at Langart’s, a coffee shop just off the north side of campus, next to Sparksville General Hospital. They didn’t really have real food, but Taylor didn’t have a lot of time, and Jules never complained about it either because, according to her, hot doctors got their coffee there. Her words, not mine. She was an A-plus student and was incredibly hardworking, but if the opportunity arose to be a housewife, she was taking it. That girl dreamed of long days filled with dirty diapers and canned preserves and nonprofit administration.

  Black leather furniture covered with eccentric colorful pillows lined the walls of Langart’s. Tables for two lingered here and there, some vacant, some occupied. I ordered a large coffee, black, and a blueberry muffin. Jules only got coffee, still nursing a small hangover, and Taylor ordered a cappuccino and a slice of banana nut bread. Not fulfilling food, but with the caffeine, I figured I should be able to make it until lunch—or brunch. Whichever.

  “So how’s the real world?” I asked Taylor as we settled into the dinette next to the window. She worked with the state in the Department of Child Services. There I was struggling to write words on paper while she was out literally saving lives, and children’s lives, at that. She was my hero.

  “It’s hard,” she said, picking at her bread. “Harder than I thought it would be, honestly.” I didn’t interrupt her as she picked at her banana bread, knowing she was going to elaborate more. “Budgeting is a nightmare. Don’t get me wrong, Mom would still help me if I needed it, but it’s no longer just sitting in my bank account waiting for me to spend at will. I didn’t pick this career for its financial stability—which everyone warned me about, I know—but I’m still entry-level, so I make very little, and I’m not even getting to do what I want to do just yet. I’m still doing grunt work and getting paid accordingly. Welcome to the adult life.” Her voice ended on a sarcastic note, but not enough that I thought she actually regretted her career choice. She was made for this.

  “Your face lights up when you talk about the kids, though,” I reminded her. It’d always been her thing, to the point that I’d been envious of her assurance on more than one occasion.

  “It’s very rewarding.” She nodded in agreement. “This week we took a little boy away from his mother. His grandmother had basically been raising him anyway, but his mom got arrested. She was driving under the influence of who knows what with him screaming in the back seat. It’s the third time she’s been arrested in the last two years. I hate that the little boy has to go through all this, but it’s what’s best for him, even if he doesn’t understand that now.” My fist clenched involuntarily. I couldn’t understand why those things even happened to defenseless children.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Jules told her, sipping her hot coffee, checking her phone periodically, no doubt waiting on a ‘morning after’ message from whatever his name was. “I could not handle that kind of job. It’s so sad. I feel bad enough reading about the testing of eyelash enhancers on poor, defenseless rabbits. I can’t imagine witnessing pain being inflicted on kids.”

  “It is difficult,” she agreed. “It’s so worth it, though, knowing I’ve helped all those kids. It makes my heart full more than it makes it empty, but there are good days and bad days.” Her shrug did little to hide the hurt I knew she felt.

  “Do most of the parents get them back?” I had read somewhere that many times, it was hard to keep a child away from their biological mother, no matter how unstable the situation might be.

  “It’s one of the many failures of our justice system.” She nodded. “There aren’t enough foster parents and even less resources, but we give them a chance at a second life, a better life. Statistically, something like ninety percent of children who are born into a drug-addicted family become a drug addict, too. It’s a never-ending cycle.” She shook her head. Taylor was a strong person, but if there was anything to bring her down, it was this. Her own dad had suffered from low self-control and spent the majority of his time strung out on easily accessible drugs before they ended his life when Taylor was fifteen.

  “The kids don’t want to be taken away,” she continued. “They kick and scream and cry. That part sucks. They are too little to understand that it’s what is best. All they know is that they are scared, and we’re taking them away from what they know.”

  “We are born to love our parents,” I told her. “Even when there is reason to stop, it doesn’t come naturally. It’s engrained in our DNA.”

  Life’s funny like that. When we’re little, we want to stay with our parents. As we get older, we want nothing more than to get away. Thankfully, I had strong relationships with both my parents. Being an only child, I was my momma’s girl and my daddy’s world. I’d had the best kind of childhood that I didn’t need to recover from. I’d done nothing to deserve the family life I had, but a kid didn’t do anything to deserve

  A fresh coffee was placed in front of me, distracting me, and then a body fell into the seat beside me. I was confused by the combination of six letters and numbers scrawled on the side of my cup. I turned to my left to ask about them, but I couldn’t find words. Ben looked as good as he always did in dark jeans paired with a button-down rolled up to his elbows, his backpack slung over his right shoulder.

  That wasn’t why I’d lost my voice, though. I could stand his impossibly good looks, at least for a minute or two. What got me was his aroma. He smelled amazing, like fresh freaking meadows and all man. I knew it was fabric softener. It wasn’t like he went frolicking through fields of wildflowers before getting coffee. I took an extra deep breath to hide my sniffing. I’m only human, and I couldn’t ignore the natural reaction of my hormones.

  “Hey.” He poked me in the side when I didn’t greet him like Jules and Tay did. I was trying too hard to ignore his scent, my manners forgotten.

  “I believe phone numbers are supposed to be seven digits, and they don’t contain letters,” I said sarcastically, ignoring the way his leg felt against mine under the table. “I’m guessing she’s probably not interested.” It was a lie—had to be. Every girl was a little interested, even café baristas.

  “Actually, that’s for you, and that’s my license plate number.” He winked at me, and I blinked at him. Jules laughed out loud while I pretended I wasn’t the least bit phased by his flirting. I didn’t want to be phased. I didn’t want to be like every other girl on campus. Jules noticed, though, kicking my shin underneath the table, and not gently. I pretended I was just impressed he knew his license plate number by heart.

  I was still trying to covertly rub out the pain when her phone vibrated on the table. You could tell she was expecting a text by the way her hand went flying toward her phone. Her small smile fell completely, and it was clearly not the communication she was anticipating.

  A Cheshire grin quickly replaced her disappointment.

  “Lex, your blind date is all set up for tomorrow.” I stole a quick sideways glance at Ben and found him looking at me. I didn’t want to think about the color of my cheeks right then.

  “Jules…” I sighed, very heavily. “I thought we agreed on no more set-ups.” I was absolutely positive I had specifically instructed that she was only allowed to set me up with British royalty, and since I was quite confident the monarchy was not visiting the States, I knew she’d ignored me. Again.

  It’d been a very long time since my last real date, even longer since I’d had a second date, a fact that Jules had pointed out when I tried desperately to back out. So my social life was lacking—that didn’t mean I should be subjected to matchmaking.

  Apparently, she disagreed.

  It was an awkward conversation, followed by an awkward goodbye from Ben. I wasn’t complaining that he made a hasty exit when the topic of dating came up.

  “Ben’s into you,” Jules said after the door of the coffee shop closed behind him, and Taylor nodded her agreement. “Did you see the look on his face when I said you had a date? It
was quite close to jealousy.” Tay agreed again. She was pushing bobblehead status with her constant nodding.

  “We’re just friends,” I said, and I meant it. “But I don’t know…he’s being weird. Lately, he stares at me longer, more intensely, and he keeps initiating conversation when normally he’d just wave or ignore me. He sits behind me in history.” Which wouldn’t have been weird except the class was nowhere near max capacity and there were plenty of empty seats next to girls who seemed to have a much bigger desire to carry on conversation.

  “He’s into you,” she repeated.

  “Ben’s into a lot of girls,” I said. “Mostly ones with a pulsating heart and C-cups. He’s interested in the chase. That’s all.”

  “Who knows?” Tay winked. “He’s about to graduate, so maybe he’s ready to settle down. You’re just the one to tame that heartbreaker.”

  I outwardly scoffed. “If I have to tame someone just to be with me, why would I want him?” Neither girl had an answer for that, but it didn’t stop their unsolicited advice.

  “You should give him a chance—or give someone a chance,” she amended. “You said yourself you wanted to live more this year.”

  “Guys aren’t interested in the way I’m living,” I argued, though I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t want a movie companion and a reason to stay in snuggling on the weekends.

  “Your ‘whole new you’ plan was about living more.” Jules refused to let this go. I could see the determination in her eyes, and I knew there was no way I was getting out of the blind date. I knew I would be lucky if she hadn’t already set up an online dating profile for me.

  “Yeah, but not with guys.” I focused my attention on the crumbs of my muffin, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I really did want a boyfriend. If I admitted that out loud, I would have a date set up every Saturday until graduation. Maybe Fridays, too. “That’s not the kind of life experience I was talking about,” I added, and it wasn’t, though that didn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate the social life that came along with a little male attention.

  “Maybe not, but relationships dictate part of your life, unless you plan to be alone forever,” Tay chimed in, confirming I was outnumbered. “And considering how anti-date you’ve been the last three years, you can stand to make a few mistakes in love. Ben’s a perfect candidate for a mistake.”

  I rolled my eyes at her attempt to bring Ben back into the conversation and pushed her shoulder as we gathered our trash and headed for the door. It wasn’t a revolting thought, but it wasn’t a very realistic one, either. The kid probably broke out in hives at the mention of commitment.

  “I’ve got to get back to class, but remember I’m staying with you tonight,” she said, reaching out to hug Jules before turning to me. “And don’t forget, I’ve got Halloween weekend off. Let’s make plans.”

  “Great. I’m thinking scary movie marathon,” I told her, returning her tight squeeze.

  “I don’t know why I do this to myself,” Jules said as she checked her phone again on the walk back to our apartment. “He still hasn’t called. No text. Nothing. I was expecting at least an ‘I had fun last night.’” In my opinion, that was the very least he could do.

  “Why do you do that to yourself?” I asked her, just as curious as she was as to why she continually set herself up for disappointment.

  “It’s college.” She shrugged, clearly not feeling as guilty as I would have been. She pocketed her phone, still refusing to make eye contact.

  “I don’t get why college makes it seem normal to love for a night.” Love was a term I was using loosely. I wasn’t even sure if infatuation would have been the right choice. Companionship was better. Loneliness was more accurate. “I know this really doesn’t make you happy, at least not in the long run. You can lie to me and even to yourself, but it won’t change the truth.”

  Deep down, she was a romantic, and she was longing for something she’d never find in casual hook-ups. If she was affected by my words, she hid it well. Her tough exterior ran deep. She brushed it off with her usual smile, fooling everyone around her—maybe even herself.

  “Quit getting all ‘I’m a writer’ deep on me when I’ve only had one cup of coffee.” She had returned to her playful, fun-loving self, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before we went through the same thing again, another Thirsty Thursday of low inhibitions and high expectations.

  CHAPTER 6

  IF YOU REALLY like someone, aren’t you happy to get out of bed and put on makeup for them? I did not feel that way, but then again, I’d never met the guy. Blind dates were part of my personal inner circle of hell, along with boy-short underwear and working on Sundays. Normally, I could talk Jules out of random set-ups, but this time she was insistent.

  I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to shower, and I certainly didn’t want to shave my legs. Being a girl was such high maintenance. Men had it easy. They used one product for body, face, and hair—a three-for-one—while I spent more time choosing products than studying for my British Literature final. There are hair products for washing, repairing, styling, and shampoos for color, length, softness. I’d have less trouble naming my firstborn than choosing shampoo.

  Then there is body wash, and then face wash, which includes a numbered system of clean, exfoliate, repair, and anti-aging. Then feminine products, and don’t even get me started on makeup. Primer, foundation, concealer, bronzer, blush, multiple eyeshadows, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, and now you’re even expected to do something to your eyebrows. What, exactly, I’m not sure. They’re lucky I go through the pain of letting the lady at the salon wax them occasionally.

  The whole ordeal had me grumbling out of my yoga pants and into a dress that didn’t need to be ironed. That was the best Travis was getting tonight. That was his name, my blind date: Travis. I was meeting him at Gretta’s, a casual steakhouse on the opposite side of town.

  When I arrived, five minutes early, he was already seated at a table near the bar. That was one good thing, at least. Punctuality was important to me. He was a solid six, maybe a seven on a good day. Dark hair, clean-shaven face. He was a couple years older than me if I had to guess, maybe twenty-seven. It was hard to tell with the low lighting of the restaurant and the way he had his hair combed back like a middle-aged used car salesman. It wasn’t on my list of turn-ons.

  His red striped button-down was untucked from his jeans and rolled up to his forearms. It was a little wrinkled. His ears were slightly too big for his head, and not in a cute nerdy way. His breath smelled of onions. It took great strength to not lean back every time he leaned in to say something so he could be overheard over the noise in the crowded restaurant.

  All these things could have been overlooked if he weren’t picking at every single one of my flaws. I had the vague thought that he and Sherri were in cahoots.

  I’m not really a judgmental person, at least I try not to be. He made me have to try really hard.

  “Do you really think you’re going to make a living off of that?” he asked cheekily when I told him I was studying writing. Is he for real? I’d been out of the dating game a long time. In fact, I wasn’t sure I had ever even been in the game to start with, but I was pretty sure you don’t insult someone you’re trying to go on a second date with—not that that would be happening anyway. I decided that when he took the last roll without offering it to me. Call it high standards, but a lady deserves the last roll. What happened to chivalry? If he was selfish with baked, buttery goodness, I couldn’t even imagine how selfish he was in life.

  I struggled with what to order, as I always did on dates. It wasn’t easy, not knowing someone. I didn’t want to overindulge and look like a fat kid who loves cake, even though I wholeheartedly loved cake. Knowing he was health-conscious, I ended up going with a salad. It did have chicken on it, though. I could only do so much. When the waitress finally dropped it off, I first noticed that it was really green. Too much lettuce, not enough chicken. Restaurants really ne
ed to work on correcting their meat-to-lettuce ratio.

  “So what do you do?” I asked him, dousing my salad in the house dressing, already cursing myself for not ordering a steak.

  “I’m a football coach,” he answered while chewing his mashed potatoes. A snort escaped my nose before I could help it. I didn’t know the last time I’d heard of a high school coach making six figures. It wasn’t like he was rolling in the dough. That must have been why he was concerned with my financial stability. He needed someone to bring home the bacon.

  I was itching to leave as soon as he started in on his hobbies: playing football and watching football. I wasn’t an anti-sports girl. I loved football as much as the next heterosexual female. Those tight pants, the sweaty jerseys, all those muscles—the thought of them made my mouth water more than the salad I was picking at, but when he started in on Superbowl twenty-eight, I knew there was never going to be a chance for me to get a word in edgewise. I even turned down dessert in efforts to rush the ending of this mediocre night, and I was not one to turn down cake, especially with a wonderful scoop of vanilla ice cream melting slowly on top.

  By the time I made it home, I was annoyed and frustrated: frustrated at Jules for setting us up, annoyed at myself for shaving my legs and wasting my good makeup on such a dud of an evening.

  Jules and Tay, who was spending the weekend with us since Clayton was traveling for work, were sprawled across the living room furniture, focused on an old chick flick.

  “How was it?” Jules begged to know, and I grabbed the spoon and tub of ice cream from her lap before answering. Priorities, my friend. Priorities.